


maybe in the sun you'll see you got what you want (but not what you need)

by axsun



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Angst, F/F, Mutual Pining, Pining, a lot of Trauma that we will discuss later, but neither of them know it <3, content/trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter, hopefully it's somewhat on track, maybe ooc??? idk they're kids so whatev, not..... a happy ending, other side pairings too but just tagging jemily cause that's the main one, tags and characters will be updated as the story progresses, we love to see it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axsun/pseuds/axsun
Summary: Jennifer Jareau does not know how to let go.(or: the childhood AU no one asked for.)
Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 24
Kudos: 55





	maybe in the sun you'll see you got what you want (but not what you need)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content/trigger warning: grief, death, reference to suicide/cutting, minor blood, minor bullying/harassment.

_august 2012._

“Can I sit here?”

She’s in JJ’s science class– Emily, if JJ remembers correctly. Her face reminds JJ of a model’s: pale with bold lipstick, cold and almost untouchable, were it not for the softness of her eyes.

“Sure,” JJ says, voice quiet, because usually no one wants to sit next to her (which is fine with JJ since she doesn’t want to talk to anyone), and Emily Prentiss sits down beside her on the long bench seat, her lunch tray coming down with a loud clatter. 

“You’re Jennifer, right?” Emily says, popping open her milk carton, and JJ wonders why her tray has only that, a hamburger, and a bag of fries on it.

“Yeah. I’m in your science class.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m Emily.”

“I know,” JJ says too fast, and she flushes immediately because that is such a lame thing to say. She opens her mouth to apologize, but Emily has already taken a bite out of her hamburger and her face is contorting into the funniest look of disgust JJ has ever seen, eyebrows scrunched together and eyes screwing shut.

“This is fucking awful,” Emily spits out after swallowing, and JJ’s breath catches at the curse word in her faint accent.

“Yeah,” is JJ’s response, a beat late, and then, “Um, we’re not supposed to say bad words.”

Emily shrugs and opens the bag of chips. “Teacher’s not here. What, am I gonna get a detention?”

She says detention like it’s an abstract concept, like she’s never had detention, and after a moment of consideration, JJ answers. “Yeah.”

Emily pauses, looks at JJ in the eye for the first time, and JJ notices how fat her winged eyeliner is, the tips a little shaky.

“Oh,” she says. Then, “I won’t cuss if you don’t like it.”

"It’s okay,” JJ says, and they sit there in awkward silence, Emily crunching on some chips and JJ taking delicate bites out of carrot sticks.

Then, “Your eyes are pretty.”

“Hm?”

"Your eyes are pretty,” Emily repeats. “They look like the ocean.”

"Oh.”

She’s never heard that before, really. Always, _your eyes are like the sky_ , or _just like the pool_ , but never _the ocean_. She kinda likes the sound of that.

“I’ve never seen the ocean,” JJ says.

Emily pops another chip in.

“Well, it’s big,” Emily says. 

JJ frowns. “I know.”

A pause, and then JJ says, “I like your nails.”

They’re jet-black and shaped like triangles, and JJ doesn’t know how they haven’t broken on anything yet (and okay, maybe JJ doesn’t like them that much), but Emily perks up, and she has on the brightest smile JJ has ever seen in her life, and it makes JJ smile too.

“They’re claws,” Emily says, and her smile falters.

“Claws?” JJ asks. 

Emily opens her mouth just as the bell rings, and as they stand up to throw away their trash, Emily’s hand brushes against JJ’s arm.

“I’ll tell you later,” she promises.

“Okay,” JJ says, not sure how else to answer because maybe the claws are a little unsettling, but for some reason, she really likes Emily’s red-lipped smile.

Emily rides the same bus home as JJ, which she thinks is weird because Emily didn’t ride the bus to school that morning, but she doesn’t say anything because Emily is telling her about these cats who live in a forest and call themselves“warriors” and fight each other and have their own religion. And she keeps talking even when JJ gets off at her stop, walking alongside her in bright white sneakers, her steps somehow feather-soft despite the bulkiness of her shoes.

“Why are they fighting all the time?” JJ asks when Emily stops to inhale after talking about Scourge, and she pauses to think.

“I don’t know,” she finally answers. “I guess they just don’t know how to talk about their problems.”

“That’s so sad,” JJ says.

“No, it’s not,” Emily defends. “If they talked, they wouldn’t be warriors, they’d be talkers.”

“Politicians,” JJ offers, and the bark of laughter Emily lets out is almost bitter. 

JJ stops at the intersection. “My street,” she explains, at Emily’s questioning look.

“Oh.”

She’s almost hurt, and JJ says, “We can talk tomorrow. You can tell me about what happens after the big battle.”

“The Great Battle,” Emily corrects, but she nods and waves, black nail polish glinting in the sunlight. “See ya.”

And JJ feels herself smiling for what feels like the first time in over a year.

“Bye,” she says.

There’s a screech of tires by her house maybe forty minutes later, and when JJ glances outside the window and sees a black sedan pulling away, she swears she sees Emily in the passenger seat.

  
  
  


_september 2012._

For the science project, JJ chooses Emily to be her partner. They have to build a terrarium, and JJ offers to bring in the dirt and the earthworms. Emily scrunches up her face and says she’ll bring the soda bottles and water, and JJ says okay, well, they have to have more bugs so she’ll find some woodlice as well, and this is fine, how badly can it go?

Except at the school parking lot, Emily brings two two-liter bottles of some French soda brand that is definitely not Coca-Cola or Sprite and weird Fiji water in rectangular-shaped bottles, and Emily’s eyebrows furrow at JJ’s gaping mouth.

“I brought soda and water,” she says, almost confused.

“An empty bottle, Em,” JJ says (she can’t say her full name because she’s in shock), throat suddenly dry. “We needed empty soda bottles.”

“Oh,” Emily says. A pause. “Well, these aren’t empty.”

“I know,” JJ says, and she’s shocked at the prickling of tears behind her eyes but not really, because she’s never missed a project before and Ms. Barnes said specifically empty soda bottles and what if they get a bad grade–

“I have an idea,” Emily announces, and JJ watches as she unscrews the cap of the first two-liter bottle, lifts the entire bottle up to her mouth, left hand supporting the bottom, and begins chugging.

“What are you doing?” JJ asks dumbfoundedly, because she knows what Emily is doing, but this can’t be happening, she can’t be sitting in the back of the school with two bottles of expensive water and two bottles of even more expensive soda and some earthworms and woodlice in her backpack and the weird new cat-girl who clips her nails into claws and is drinking two liters’ worth of soda at once.

Emily pauses and wipes the remaining soda off her lips. The soda level inside has dipped down to the wrapper, and she looks at JJ. 

“I’m drinking the soda,” she says. “But I don’t think I can drink all of it.”

She looks at the other soda bottle pointedly, and after a moment’s hesitation, JJ takes the bottle, unscrews the lid, and lifts it to her mouth.

She chokes almost immediately, the liquid dribbling down her chin and onto her legs, and she sets the bottle down unceremoniously, soda spilling onto the cement underneath it.

“What is that?” JJ asks incredulously, because that is some horrible mix of Coca Cola and some bitter taste she can’t quite place, and Emily takes another break from chugging to giggle at JJ, and JJ’s breath catches at the red lipstick stains around the bottle opening.

“I used to drink it as a kid,” Emily says. “You don’t like it?”

“Well, it’s not Sprite. Where’d you grow up, Europe?”

“Yeah,” Emily says. “It’s okay, I’ll drink yours too, gimme a sec.”

“No, it’s okay,” JJ says, and Emily shrugs before lifting the half-empty bottle back to her mouth and resumes chugging. JJ takes a moment to steel herself before taking another swig, and this time, it burns less.

When the bell rings, Emily has already finished her bottle and is watching JJ sip her way down, and with a twinkle in her eyes, she holds her hand out.

“I got it,” she says, and her lipstick has all but smeared away and her lips are actually a muted dark pink, and JJ passes her her bottle. 

Emily takes it and downs the remaining soda easily, flashing her a smile that makes JJ’s insides flip.

“See?” she says. “Easy.”

“Your lipstick is smeared,” JJ says, and Emily frowns and wipes her cheek with her free hand. “No–”

JJ reaches out and Emily holds herself stone-still. Cupping Emily’s cheek, JJ uses her thumb to gently rub away the smear. She’s surprised at how easily the makeup is removed, maybe more surprised at how soft Emily’s cheek is.

“Thanks,” Emily breathes out, and with a jolt, JJ realizes they’re going to be late for class.

“Let’s go,” she says, standing up and rubbing at the soda stain on her shorts, and she tries not to notice the way Emily’s cheeks flush as she turns around, empty soda bottles in her hands, her own cheeks burning.

Ms. Barnes says their terrarium is the best and asks where the soda is from. 

“France,” Emily answers.

“I’d prefer it if we told only the truth, Emma,” Ms. Barnes says, the smile on her face not quite reaching her eyes, and JJ doesn’t miss the way Emily’s hand clenches into a fist.

“It’s Emily, Ms. Farm,” she snips. “And yeah, I try to tell only the truth.”

It’s like the entire room freezes, and JJ is caught in the middle, deer in headlights. Ms. Barnes, with slitted cold eyes and smile completely gone, versus Emily, faded red lipstick and shaky fat eyeliner, eyes steady and intense, and JJ wants to take Emily’s hand and stop her nails from cutting into her palm.

“Do not talk back to me, Emily,” Ms. Barnes says, and before she can finish, Emily rolls her eyes.

“Or what, you gonna give me detention?”

Emily doesn’t sit with JJ during lunch.

“Fucking detention,” Emily huffs, plopping down next to JJ on the bus seat, and JJ giggles. “I didn’t know that was an actual thing, I just thought it was an American joke.”

“Where did you live in France?” JJ asks, but she frowns at the crusted red on Emily’s hands. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, it’s my claws,” Emily says, and JJ takes her first-aid kit from her backpack. “What are you doing?”

“I have band-aids,” JJ says, and she produces a handful of hot pink band-aids. Emily wrinkles her nose.

“They’re pink,” she says.

“Hold still,” JJ orders, and she takes Emily’s hand. She doesn’t miss the way Emily flinches at her touch, but Emily opens her hand and JJ sucks in a breath at the four scabs on her palm. 

JJ knows a lot about first-aid, taught herself everything a year ago, and she knows she needs to clean the wounds. She wipes Emily’s palms as gently as possible with a wipe from her kit, and when JJ applies the final band-aids, Emily flexes her hand curiously.

“I guess they’re a look,” she says finally, and she flashes JJ another smirk that makes JJ’s stomach clench. “Thanks, Jennifer.”

“JJ,” she says. “You can call me JJ.”

At Emily’s questioning eyebrow, JJ flushes and explains. “My friends call me JJ.”

She doesn’t know how to explain the way her stomach flips at Emily’s broad grin, lipstick still a little smudged. 

  
  
  


_october 2012._

“Why did you live in France?”

“My mom is an ambassador,” Emily says, drawing out each syllable so as to not mess up the pronunciation, and when she’s done, she looks almost proud of herself. JJ’s face must at least be puzzled, because Emily goes on to clarify. “She travels all across the world to represent the United States, and so she had to go to France for a while. We lived in Saudi Arabia and Egypt before, too.”

“Wow,” JJ says. “That’s really cool.”

Emily nods absentmindedly, and she looks as though she’s holding something back before she blurts out, “I don’t see her a lot. But that’s because she’s busy.”

“Oh,” JJ says, and she thinks about her own mom and how rarely she sees her, either gone with the car or holed up in her bedroom. Hesitantly, she touches Emily’s wrist. “I’m sure she loves you.”

"I know,” is Emily’s response, but JJ doesn’t miss the glimmering hope in her eyes as she takes a sip of her chocolate milk.

  
  
  


_november 2012._

“Can I have a sleepover for my birthday?”

“No more than two people, Jenny,” her mom says almost tiredly, still scrubbing at the same plate she’s been washing for the past minute, and JJ sucks in a quivering breath and wonders if her mom will notice the way her voice shakes when she says Emily’s name.

“Her name is Emily,” JJ says, and she congratulates herself for not stumbling. “She’s in my science class, and she lived in France, and she likes Warrior Cats–”

“Sure, baby.” She cuts her off with the same, dead voice her mom has had for the past year. “What kind of cake do you want?”

Why is her lip trembling?

“Vanilla,” JJ says. “With strawberries, please.”

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” is the sighed response, and JJ trudges into her room and locks the door and sits down to finish _Sunrise_.

  
  
  


_november 2012._

“I’ve never been to a sleepover,” Emily admits, halfway through _The Princess Bride_. 

“Oh,” JJ says, still entranced on Buttercup’s shimmering dress. “I’ve never had one either. You’re my first friend.”

Emily pauses at that, and when the silence grows too long, JJ glances over to see Emily chewing on her thumb claw, eyes bright. She’s wearing a shocking blue eyeshadow for the night (“because blue is your favorite color, and it’s your birthday,” Emily had explained) and a crisp robin-egg blue button up.

“You’re my first friend too,” she says at last. “I’m too weird for anyone else.”

JJ blinks, because if someone were to chug four liters of pure soda in six minutes for her, she’d gladly call them her friend. 

“I’m glad you’re my friend,” she offers, and Emily flashes her another grin that makes JJ feel weird inside.

“So when do you open my present?” Emily says, stretching back from her sitting position and brushing against JJ, skin hot from her touch.

“After cake- now shush, you’re gonna miss the good part,” JJ replies.

Dinner is macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes with lemonade to drink, and not only are those JJ’s favorite foods, but she knows they’re also Emily’s favorite foods, and it works out that she gets to share her birthday and her favorite things with her friend.

“Where’s your nanny?” Emily asks, halfway through the meal, and JJ looks at her questioningly. “Are you home by yourself?”

And suddenly the potatoes in her mouth taste like cardboard, and swallowing it feels like swallowing sandpaper.

“Yeah,” JJ says. “My mom gets sad sometimes, so she’s probably out.”

“Oh,” Emily says, like she always does when she doesn’t know what to say, and JJ changes the subject.

“Do you have a nanny?”

A nod as Emily spears another noodle on her fork.

“Memere takes care of me,” she says. “Since the Ambassador isn’t home, Memere drives me around and makes sure I do my homework. She helps me pick out my clothes and stuff.”

“That’s cool,” JJ says. “She sounds nice.”

“I think she’d like you,” Emily says, scraping her fork around for any rogue noodles. “She’d say you’re a good influence on me.”

And JJ laughs, because _her_? A good influence?

Emily snorts in response. “You’re all nice and quiet, and I filed my nails into claws so I can scratch people I don’t like. You’re a pretty good influence, Jareau.”

JJ doesn’t know how she feels about Emily calling her by her last name. It feels almost too official, too formal, like how Emily only calls her mother _Ambassador_ , but it’s Emily, and rarely can she deny her anything.

“Okay, we have to eat cake now,” JJ says, and when she moves to clear the table, Emily hesitates and picks up her plate and cup clumsily, waiting for JJ to move to the sink before following her. She mimics her, placing her plate and cup neatly into the sink, and watches as JJ pulls out the small cake from the fridge.

It’s store bought and basic, a vanilla cake with white icing and pink frosting decorating the rim, strawberries adorning the center, and JJ feels almost embarrassed because Emily grew up in Paris, so foreign and exotic, and this is a basic American cake that doesn’t even have a candle.

But Emily is entranced, eyes wide in some strange sort of wonder that makes JJ want to laugh as she reaches out with a tentative finger to poke the pink swirl.

“It’s just like you,” Emily says.

“I’m a cake?”

“It’s pretty and perfect.” Emily flashes her another smile. “Like you.”

JJ returns the smile, almost giddy, and there’s a pause as they both stare at the cake, and then Emily begins singing.

“ _Joyeux anniversaire_ ,” she sings, and JJ watches, entranced at the way Emily closes her eyes when she sings and at how clear her voice is and how her dark lips move, and rationally she knows she’s singing a birthday song in a foreign language, but it sounds like some hymn and JJ swears she can listen to Emily sing forever. Illuminated only by the dinner light, she looks so beautiful.

With a start, JJ realizes that Emily has finished and is watching her, a pink blush creeping down her chest, and JJ feels herself start to flush.

“You’re really good at singing,” she says. “Is that French?”

Emily shrugs, but she’s clearly pleased at the compliment. “Yeah, it’s the French birthday song. I don’t know it in English, so–”

“I loved it,” JJ cuts in. “You should sing more.”

Another Emily grin, and JJ doesn’t think she will ever get tired of the way Emily’s cheeks crinkle up or the twinkle in her eyes.

Emily’s gift is wrapped in beautiful soft blue butterfly wrapping paper, gold accents glittering under the dining table light, and JJ’s heart aches every time she rips it, but Emily promises her it’s just wrapping paper and the gift is so much more (but it’s Emily’s wrapping paper and Emily remembered she loved butterflies and blue) and so JJ keeps on going, carefully picking her way through Emily’s horrid wrapping job, and when her fingers touch a smooth leather surface, her breath catches.

It is a book, a little smaller than their science textbook, with a rich brown leather cover and shining gold accents, and the title is–

“ _T_ _he Princess Bride_ ,” JJ says dumbly, hand still stroking it.

“Do you like it?” comes from Emily, hovering over her shoulder, and JJ swallows and hopes Emily doesn’t see the tears in her eyes. “You said it was your favorite movie and I thought– I dunno, it looked really fancy–”

“I love it,” she forces out, pushing back the tears because how does JJ explain she had the exact copy as well, except now it’s six feet under with the only other person in the world who mattered as much as Emily?

Instead, JJ turns around and presses her forehead to Emily’s because that’s something the cats in Warrior Cats do to say _I love you_ without words, and Emily butts her head back affectionately, and JJ watches as her eyelashes, thick with chunky mascara, flutter closed and notes that her breath smells like strawberries and cream.

Emily asks to use the restroom and JJ nods and points down the hall, and she busies herself with cleaning up the table and putting the cake back into the fridge, and when she’s done she goes to her room to prepare the small mattress on her floor for Emily, book clutched tightly to her chest as she passes by the closed bathroom door–

The closed bathroom door.

And the book drops to the ground because suddenly she is eleven and wondering where her sister is and the bathroom door is closed and it smells like iron–

And now she’s pounding on the door and screaming and she’s still screaming when the door flings open to a disheveled and red Emily.

“JJ, what the fuck?”

“Don’t go in there!” JJ screams, and she’s hitting Emily’s chest and there are tears running down her cheeks and Emily grabs her shoulders. “Why did you go in there? You can’t go in there! Get out!”

“I had to pee!” Emily shouts, and JJ keeps screaming.

“You can’t go in there!” and now she can’t breathe, her chest is collapsing and her throat is raw but Emily _cannot_ go back in there, Emily _cannot_ be inside, Emily _cannot_ be in the bathtub of red, Emily _cannot–_

“JJ, calm down, I’m okay,” Emily says, and JJ clutches her like she’s her lifeline and Emily holds her as JJ shakes and cries.

“You can’t go in there,” she says, and she’s begging now, holding Emily by her soft pink jacket and staring into her dark-smeared face and her big nose because at some point it will be covered in blood and– “You can’t go in there.”

“Okay, I won’t go in there, I’m sorry,” Emily says, and she holds JJ until the sobs stop and the shaking subsides and JJ is left hiccuping, still holding Emily in a vice grip. She presses a kiss to JJ’s head and holds her even tighter, burying her face in the crook of her neck. “Let’s go to your room.”

And JJ says, “Okay,” voice still quivering, and Emily picks up the book and holds her as they walk to JJ’s room, a bit further down the hallway, past a closed door across the hall from JJ’s bedroom. When JJ sits down on her bed, she pulls Emily with her, and they sprawl across JJ’s twin-sized bed together.

And Emily doesn’t say anything when JJ’s hands thread through her disheveled dark hair, but rather wraps her arms around JJ’s shoulders as tightly as possible.

When JJ wakes up and finds Emily watching her, hand still threading through JJ’s blonde locks, mascara and eyeliner smeared around her round, dark eyes, she suggests they eat cake for breakfast.She doesn’t say anything as she rolls off of JJ.

JJ misses her warmth.

  
  
  


_november 2012._

Emily comes over a lot. They finish their homework at the dining table before going up to JJ’s room to look through her butterfly collection or talk about Warrior Cats. She doesn’t use the bathroom in the hallway with JJ’s room and the closed door, and at some point when it’s a little too cold to do anything, Emily decides they need to play Warrior Cats.

It’s simple, she says, there’s already a patch of woodland behind JJ’s house, and it’s thin enough that they’ll still be near home and probably nothing will happen to them, and, well, it’s Emily, and JJ always says yes to Emily.

So that’s why she’s balancing herself on a mossy rock in the trickle of a creek and listening to Emily talking about needing to mark their territory.

“Because I’m the leader and you’re my deputy, we need to make sure the other clans know they can’t cross the scent-line,” Emily says as though explaining that the moon revolves around the Earth. JJ huffs. 

“But if you’re the leader, your name can’t be Shadowstar,” she protests. “You can’t name yourself after the big clan.”

“But I like it,” Emily says, and she pauses. “You can name yourself Thundersong or Riversong if you want. Or Windsong.”

“I like Breezesong,” she defends (it’s the name she picked out for herself) and she takes another step onto a smaller rock and shrieks as her foot slides out from underneath her.

Emily catches her, darting forward and throwing her arms out in a feeble attempt to soften the fall, but they’re just now learning about gravity, and what JJ learns is that gravity is stronger than Emily Prentiss, and they go tumbling to the ground.

“Ow,” JJ says.

Her hands and arms are covered in mud, splayed out to catch her fall, and her pants are also wet, and yeah, this is not fun.

“Ow,” Emily parrots, squinting up at JJ on top of her, and JJ notices how close their faces are to each other. Close enough to see each individual eyelash and the little flecks of brown in her dark eyes and that Emily missed a patch of lipstick on her pouty bottom lip. JJ wonders if lipstick changes the way someone’s lips taste and she wonders if Emily’s eyes are really flickering down to her own lips and–

“Sorry,” JJ says, and she rolls off of Emily and offers her a hand up. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

A pause, and Emily takes her hand, her jeans covered in mud as well.

“I know,” is Emily’s response, and JJ wonders why she sounds so disappointed.

  
  
  


_december 2012._

JJ goes to Emily’s house once over winter break. Memere picks her up and tells her that _Emily has spoken so much about you, Jennifer_ and presses kisses to her cheeks while Emily flushes from behind her, and JJ giggles and shakes her hand and can’t stop thinking about why Emily talks about her so much. The car is sleek and shiny– JJ sits like a proper guest, legs together and back straight in comparison to Emily’s slouch, but she can’t help her hand from running over the interior car seat (she thinks it’s leather, _real leather_ ).

“Wow,” JJ says as a building comes into view. “Is that your house?”

“Yeah,” Emily says, coming up behind her to rest her chin on JJ’s shoulder, but JJ can’t say anything because this isn’t a house, this is an entire mansion, a palace, a castle, whatever, this is a forty minute drive from her little one story home in the edge of the suburbs and _this is where Emily lives?_

“It’s beautiful,” JJ says, and Emily huffs, the same sound she makes when Ms. Barnes is scolding her and Emily doesn’t care because she’s talking nonsense.

And it’s a beautiful house. It's tall and white and shining and three other women come to pamper up Emily and guide JJ to the sitting room (JJ has never seen a sitting room, it’s basically a living room except Emily has three of them) and ask her if she wants any biscuits or something to drink. JJ declines because her stomach is all up in knots and she’s a little nervous at the grandeur of the whole place, but Emily appears, hair somewhat straightened, and asks for _the rose tea_ and some French-sounding name, _JJ will like those_ , and they’re left alone in the sitting room, JJ sinking into the plush couch that threatens to swallow her whole and Emily perching on the backboard of the couch, shoes kicked off and feet resting against the seat cushions. JJ reaches for Emily, and almost instinctively, Emily reaches out too, and JJ’s fingers lock around her wrist.

Emily is right, she likes the biscuits and the tea (she’s never had rose tea before, it tastes just like what roses smell like), and Emily’s room is the size of her own entire house, but now JJ is realizing just what it means when Emily calls her mother _Ambassador_ and nothing else.

“Can we go to your house next time?” Emily finally says, a few hours into the night after a dinner at a long table with the richest food JJ has ever had in her entire life, and JJ looks at her.

Looks at her disheveled dark hair and her bright red lipstick, and she thinks about the dark sedan with real leather seats and the big house that might as well be a castle and the fact that Memere told Emily her mother won’t be able to make it back for Christmas and the fact that Emily shrugged and said, _Duh_ , and shoved a forkful of green beans into her mouth even though she doesn’t like vegetables.

“Sure,” JJ says. “But you have to bring the biscuits,” she adds, and Emily rolls her eyes and starts talking about Hollyleaf again.

Emily always brings the biscuits.

  
  
  


_april 2013._

“Do you wanna come over tomorrow?”

Emily looks up from her mac n cheese, and JJ stifles a giggle at the smeared cheese on the edge of her mouth before reaching over with her right hand to wipe it off. Emily sits as still as possible, and when the cheese is gone, she answers.

“It’s Good Friday,” Emily says. 

“Oh,” JJ says. There’s a pause, and Emily squints at her.

“You don’t go to church?”

“I mean,” JJ says, “not anymore.”

Not after Rosalyn died and her dad left. Her mom was too tired to make the drive, and JJ couldn’t help but wonder where God was when Rosalyn wrote a note three sentences long addressed only to JJ and slashed her wrists.

“Oh,” Emily says.

There’s a silence as JJ picks at her leftover mashed potatoes and Emily cleans out her mac n cheese bowl with her left hand, a bit clumsily because JJ insists on holding Emily’s right wrist with her own left hand, and then Emily asks, “Do you want to come with us?”

“To church?” JJ says dubiously, and Emily nods.

“The pastor is nice,” she says. “And so is everyone else there.”

JJ imagines sitting next to Emily, hand clutching her wrist, in a hall as grand as her house, ceiling arched and open and voices echoing throughout the chambers, light filtering in through magnificent glass windows, a church as beautiful and cold as the one in _The Princess Bride_ , and she feels her insides twist.

Emily answers for her.

“I’ll ask Memere if I can come over after the service,” she says. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

JJ squeezes her wrist. 

“Thanks,” she whispers, and Emily hums before breaking off a bit of her cookie and offering it to JJ, who she takes it with quivering fingers.

  
  
  


_may 2013._

The cemetery is tiny, and for a few heart-wrenching moments, JJ is afraid she won’t be able to find her grave, but Emily is the one who spots the small stone and points her in the right direction. They stand together and JJ realizes she’s gripping Emily’s wrist (not her hand because the nails are sharp, JJ learns that the hard way). But Emily doesn’t complain.

“Rosalyn?” Emily asks.

JJ nods, lump in her throat. Emily understands, and they stand there, one of JJ’s hands squeezing Emily’s wrist, the other clutching a bouquet of yellow roses. They stand there until the sun dips down below the horizon and JJ drops the flowers.

JJ doesn’t know why she asked Emily to come with her, why she asked a girl she’s known for mere months to come visit the grave of someone Emily doesn’t even know, and she doesn’t know why Emily said yes, but she sneaks a glance over at Emily who is watching the grave in between her gaze flickering around the edges of the cemetery and who is standing just a little behind her, and JJ wonders if Rosalyn will be happy she found Emily.

Maybe it’s a sign Emily came a year after Rosalyn.

  
  
  


_may 2013._

They spend Emily’s birthday at JJ’s house. When Emily first arrives, JJ asks why she’s turning fourteen when JJ turned thirteen on her birthday. She shrugs and doesn’t answer, instead insisting on watching _The Princess Bride_ because that’s her favorite movie too, and they eat package after package of the biscuits that Emily kept in her backpack until they’re on JJ’s bedroom floor, still giggly and sugary, and JJ pulls the package out from under her bed.

“This is your present,” JJ says, and when Emily looks at it, JJ remembers the bright white lights of Emily’s grand home and that Emily grew up in Paris, and her throat closes up.

But Emily takes the gift reverently and removes the taping so carefully, fingers sometimes slipping and nails accidentally shredding the soft pink paper, and when she pulls out the small gift JJ swears her eyes light up.

“No way,” she says, holding up the box, and JJ grins.

“I saw them and thought of you,” she admits.

They’re earbuds, the wire long and tangly, the plastic a soft pink and a faint floral outline in rose gold glittering in the light, and there’s nothing to prepare JJ for the way Emily throws her arms around her, tumbling to the ground and knocking the breath out of her.

The “I love it so much,” is muffled, Emily’s face buried in JJ’s hair.

JJ inhales the scent of Emily’s citrus shampoo and squeezes back a little harder and doesn’t think about why Emily is fourteen when JJ is thirteen.

  
  
  


_july 2013._

Emily is next to her, kicking her legs and watching the light in the pool water shimmer around her pale skin, when suddenly she asks, “Do you like guys?”

“Hm?”

“Do you like guys,” she repeats, and when JJ looks up, Emily won’t meet her eyes, only staring at her legs and the water sloshing around her. It’s the summer before eighth grade and Emily keeps asking Memere to drive her down to the community pool near JJ’s house so they can swim and play together before drifting back home to drink lemonade and play more Warriors.

“I guess,” JJ says. “They’re just guys.”

“What about girls?”

“Sure. I guess.”

A beat. JJ poses the question. “Why?”

“Are you gay?”

JJ frowns because she knows what gay means, she knows that sometimes boys like other boys and girls like other girls and sometimes girls and boys like everyone and that sometimes people aren’t even boys or girls, but she also knows Emily, and Emily sounds almost scared.

“I don’t know,” JJ says. “I don’t think about that sort of stuff.”

“Well, what do you think about?”

And Emily lifts her head to look at her; her eyeliner’s gotten better, the wings much more smooth, and the rippling water illuminates her eyes and Emily’s hair is sun streaked and she’s almost glowing in the summer sun, and JJ almost says, _You, I think about you_.

“I don’t know,” JJ says instead. “Are you gay?”

And Emily is quiet and her voice quivers when she says, “Maybe.”

“Oh,” JJ says. 

A silence.

“That’s cool,” she offers. “Girls are pretty.”

“Yeah.” 

Emily goes back to kicking the water, and JJ wonders if it’s gay to wonder if your best friend’s lips are as soft as you think and if it’s gay to wonder how she would taste on your own.

  
  
  


_august 2013._

JJ drags Emily to the first soccer tryout, but she insists on sitting under the shade and watching from there, and JJ doesn’t blame her. First day of eighth grade, there’s a pair of black cat ears on her head, a little fuzzy and probably not helping matters. She insists on calling soccer _football_ and it makes JJ roll her eyes because _you’re not in Europe anymore!_ but Emily still cheers for JJ no matter what, and she relishes in the way Emily’s voice rings across the field.

The coach shakes her hand, tells her she’s looking forward to seeing JJ on the team, that she’s got a natural talent, and when she walks away and Emily approaches, JJ is still beaming.

“What?” Emily asks.

“I think I’m gonna make the team,” JJ says, still a little dazed from the running.

Wordlessly, Emily passes her her water bottle, and JJ takes it and begins sipping.

“Well duh,” comes from Emily. “You were the only person who knew what they were doing.”

JJ rolls her eyes, still sipping as the bell rings. As they move towards the school, Emily’s hand comes up and brushes away a falling bead of sweat with the back of her hand.

  
  
  


_september 2013._

Emily comes over after school every day, and JJ’s mom doesn’t seem to notice when she’s home, just nodding and smiling before drifting away, but Emily doesn’t comment on it when they’re working on their Algebra homework together (the numbers come naturally to her, but she’s always willing to help JJ). They still go out to play Warriors near the creek after dinner, and it doesn’t escape JJ that Emily is trying to stay over later and later.

“I want to be a doctor,” JJ says after the counselor leaves their homeroom, and Emily hums in response, still doodling over the pamphlet they gave everyone in order to pick classes for ninth grade. “But I don’t think they offer that kinda stuff in high school.”

Emily shrugs. “It’s just cause this is a small town. I’m sure the private schools downtown have those classes.”

“Oh.”

A pause. Emily keeps doodling, JJ keeps sifting through the pamphlet, and finally–

“How would I get there?”

The universal _I don’t know_ hum. There’re two cats on Emily’s page right now, a black cat and a tabby. “Transfer schools, I guess. Or scholarship.”

“But I’d have to leave you,” JJ says slowly, because she’s thinking about the strange man in a navy and gold suit that came to their most recent soccer practice and who pointed at JJ, ponytail flying up amongst all the boys (she’s the only girl on the team and Emily says it’s because she’s the best), and suddenly she thinks that maybe she can become a doctor.

And Emily looks up and flashes her another Emily grin, except this one has too much teeth.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says. “We’ll still be friends.”

But there’s something in Emily’s tone that tugs at JJ’s heart, and when she opens her mouth to ask the question, Emily shoves her pamphlet over.

"Look, it’s us,” she says. _Nightmoon_ and _Breezesong_ are scribbled over the black cat and tabby cat respectively ( _Nightmoon_ used to be _Darkflame_ used to be _Shadowsky_ used to be _Shadowstar_ because Emily is indecisive, but JJ remembers each and every single one of her names), and JJ smiles.

  
  
  


_november 2013._

At some point after birthday cake, Emily asks JJ if she’s okay. 

JJ blinks and says, “Of course. Why?”

Emily shrugs.

“Your eyes look kinda scary.”

“Oh.”

They’re sprawled on JJ’s bedroom, JJ clutching the soft blue scarf Emily gifted her, studying the way the gold accents glittered in the light (maybe JJ has a thing for gold), and when JJ tilts her head to look at Emily, she’s staring right at the ceiling.

“I’m just thinking a lot, I guess,” JJ says. “Cause I wanna transfer downtown.”

“Oh, right,” Emily says. “Are my eyes scary?”

Her eyes are never scary, they are round and soft and dark yet they flicker and dance and they are the most perfect eyes JJ has ever seen.

“No.”

“Oh.”

And just like last year, they wake up tangled in the blankets and each other, except this time, when Emily leaves, JJ’s chest hurts just a little more.

  
  
  


_january 2014._

There’s a word to describe her body, JJ knows; the way her chest hurts when she sees the way Emily seems to dance in the drifting snow, each step careful and light even in the bulkiness of her bright white sneakers, crossing the icy river on top of scattered stones, arms held out to balance herself, and there’s definitely a word to describe how her insides twist when Emily glances up and flashes her a grin, something to describe how much she aches.

God, it’s freezing. JJ forces herself to breathe on her glove-covered hands, but there’s only so much one can do when it’s 25 degrees and the gloves cost $3 from Walmart. 

“You’re cold,” Emily calls from across the river, and she begins stepping her way back, feet moving in a practiced pattern, and before she lands, JJ forces out the question that’s been gnawing at her.

“Did you kiss anyone on New Year’s?”

If JJ hadn’t spent so much time with Emily, she wouldn’t have noticed it, the way Emily flinches and almost slips off the icy stone before regaining her balance and scoffing. But JJ does.

“No, I didn’t,” Emily says, taking a delicate step and landing onto the snowy river bank with a soft crunch. “I don’t get why you would kiss someone on New Year’s.”

“Oh.”

Emily reaches out and hesitates, but she’s wearing these ivory leather gloves and her nails are covered, and JJ hums her consent, holding her clasped hands together. Emily reaches out and cups her own hands around JJ’s, securely covering them before she blows, little hot breaths that steam up the air in little puffs. After a few puffs, Emily pauses, and she adds, “I would only wanna kiss you, anyway.”

“Hm?”

She needs a word to describe how her heart leaps into her throat and she can only force out a hum as a questioning answer. When Emily meets her eyes, the tip of her nose bright red and cheeks flushed from the cold and maybe something else, JJ’s heart hurts.

“I would only wanna kiss you,” Emily repeats, and JJ’s sure she sees her eyes flicker down to her lips. JJ swallows, throat dry.

“We could kiss now,” she offers, voice croaking out a little weaker than usual. “If you want. Just for fun.”

"Okay,” Emily says, a bit too quickly, and Emily’s hands are clasped around JJ’s and Emily is looking at JJ as though she hung all the stars in the sky just for her, and when JJ leans forward and presses their lips together, it feels–

It feels–

 _S_ _he is so warm_ , JJ thinks dully, and that’s Emily gently sucking on her bottom lip and JJ’s hands aren’t cold anymore, not when she goes to tangle them in Emily’s brown locks and they come to rest at the base of her skull, their lips slotting together perfectly, and she knows there’s a word for this, for the way Emily feels so much like home.

"That was nice,” Emily says when they break apart, her hand still cupping JJ’s cheek. Her lipstick is smeared; JJ’s tongue sneaks out unconsciously to lick her own lips, and yeah, she can taste something on her.

“Yeah,” JJ forces out, voice a bit choked, and Emily’s expression freezes. 

“Are you okay?”

Her ears are ringing, and she is too hot underneath all of these layers for a cold January outing. Her hands fall from Emily’s head, and JJ is all too aware of how empty they feel, but she has to figure out why her stomach is twisted and her heart is pounding in her throat, and she opens her mouth–

“We should go inside,” she says. “It’s cold.”

  
  


_february 2014._

JJ doesn’t get bullied. She’s quiet and she keeps her head down and everyone has heard about Rosalyn, so no one bothers her, not even when the new kid from Europe showed up in all black, sharpened nails, and cat ears. So when Michael starts pushing her around, she’s more than a little surprised.

Maybe it’s a coming of age thing, she reasons when she returns to her locker and finds the door swinging open and contents gone. Maybe this is just what happens in eighth grade. Besides, Michael is jealous, she knows– Coach yelled at him and praised her right after, it’ll just be a few days.

She doesn’t tell Emily, there’s no need to, and so when she sees Michael and his friends strolling down the main hallway while she walks arm-in-arm with Emily, she just keeps walking.

“Hey Jareau!”

His hand goes up and his elbow slams into JJ’s cheek. She stumbles at the force but pulls herself together with a grimace, and when she feels Emily stop, she tugs her forward, head up and not looking back.

“Keep moving, Em,” JJ says, pulling desperately, but Emily doesn’t move, just plants her feet.

“Fine, don’t say hi, you little bitch,” Michael sings, and Emily rips her arm out from JJ.

“Don’t call her that!” Emily yells, and JJ whirls around to see Emily, facing them down, and JJ wants to scream because they are all so much more bulky than Emily, who gets tired after an hour running around the woods, and this could all end up okay if Emily and JJ just left and–

Emily hisses– she hisses like an actual cat– and she lunges forward and swipes at his face and Michael screams. He screams high pitched and surprised and stumbles back, hand flying up to his face as Emily jumps back, arms blocking JJ from moving forward, and when his hand leaves his face, it’s red.

It’s red.

And Michael keeps screaming as the blood drips down his face and a crowd is starting to gather and Emily turns around to hold JJ but her hand is red and she stares at Emily because blood is dripping from her fingers and it is so, so red.

“JJ, are you okay?” Emily asks, and she reaches out but it is red and JJ flinches away, hands coming up to block it, and Emily freezes.

“It’s just me,” she says, and somehow, JJ can hear her voice clearly amongst the muddled screaming and howling of students around them.

“Okay,” JJ says, voice disembodied and everything red. “Okay.”

Emily doesn’t sit on the bus with her on the way home.

Her mom asks where she is, “the Emily girl.”

“I don’t know,” JJ says. “I want to transfer high schools.”

A pause. Her mom stands over the stove, still stirring the stew, and finally she asks, “To where?”

“Downtown. There’s a private school called Quantico Academy. They have more classes so I can become a doctor.”

An even longer pause. 

“I don’t think I can afford that, Jenny.”

“I’m gonna try to get a scholarship. Soccer. And there’s a shuttle that comes a few minutes away from here that picks up kids from the suburbs.”

Another pause, long enough for the stew to finish and for her mom to pass her a bowl before sitting down across the table from her. When JJ looks up, her mom’s eyes are tired. She doesn’t remember that many wrinkles on her face.

“If that’s what you want,” she says, and JJ thinks about laying on her bedroom floor with Emily and straddling her after falling in the creek and the way the blood dripped from her pointed nails as she stared at her and the way she licked Emily’s lipstick off of her lips.

“I want it,” JJ says.

  
  
  


_february 2014._

“Hey.”

JJ scoots over wordlessly, and after a moment of hesitation, Emily sits down next to her with a lunch tray of chocolate milk, mac n cheese, and chips. Or at least, JJ assumes it’s Emily.

“What happened?”

Emily shrugs, clearly changed by the week she was pulled out of school. Her hair has been combed neatly, the cat ears are gone, she’s wearing no makeup, and she has on a red button up that looks almost stifling, nothing like her usual soft pink jacket.

“The Ambassador got mad,” she says casually, and JJ’s heart clenches at the way Emily won’t meet her eyes. “So she fixed me up.”

“I’m sorry,” JJ says.

Emily pops open the milk carton and sips. A pause, and then, “She missed the class registration date when I was in kindergarten.”

“The Ambassador?”

“It was the one thing she could’ve done right as a parent, but she forgot. Tried to move overseas so I could continue classes on a regular schedule, but when we moved back, they said I had to continue school a year behind.”

JJ doesn’t say anything. She knows Rosalyn was the one who signed her up for school; she doesn’t get all the technicalities behind registration, but there’s a bitterness in Emily’s voice that makes her want to hate the Ambassador for Emily. Another pause, and then Emily speaks again, voice a bit more clear.

“You never told me what happened to your sister.”

“Oh.”

The leftover cheese in her mouth tastes like sawdust, and JJ’s throat is closing up. She should explain, really; Emily would understand why she looked at her the way she did, right?

“You don’t have to,” Emily says, and she reaches out with a tentative hand; the nail polish is gone and her nails are round, JJ notices. Her hand brushes over her arm gently, and JJ watches as her hairs stand up on edge.

“Maybe later,” JJ says.

The Ambassador also says Emily isn’t allowed to go home with JJ anymore, but Memere offers to drive JJ home as if she knows the two need every second together. The sedan is quiet and smooth, and with Emily’s nails clipped, JJ isn’t as afraid when her hand drifts over and settles on her own.

  
  
  


_april 2014._

The coach asks JJ to stay behind after a practice and introduces her to the man in the suit who’s been watching her at practice. “He’s a representative,” the coach says, “of a talent search downtown.”

“You have a lot of potential, Jennifer,” he says. “I hear you’re interested in a soccer scholarship?”

JJ nods.

“I know some people. Keep up the great work.”

Emily stops asking JJ what classes she plans on taking next year.

  
  
  


_may 2014._

JJ’s never played in front of a crowd this big, and her teammate slaps her wrist when she starts chewing her nails (she picked that up from Emily).

“You’re gonna be fine, Jareau,” Matt says, and JJ nods a little at that. 

He gives her a soft smile and claps his hand on her shoulder. “We’re gonna win, yeah? Greenaway’s not here, but you could probably kick her ass anyways.”

“Yeah,” she echoes, because Matt is a nice guy, with a playful smile and sparkling eyes, and even though the star player of their opposing team would’ve most definitely wiped them out, he’s always been nice and supportive, even when the remaining five members of the team began ghosting her after Michael and his three friends were kicked off for harassment (good riddance), but maybe she’s thinking about something (someone) else.

But soft guy as he is, he’s oddly perceptive, and he offers, “I’m sure your girlfriend will come.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

And Matt nods, taking it in for a moment, and he says, “I’m sure she’ll be here any second.”

The whistle blows, and JJ can’t see Emily.

Which is fine, it’s stupid she relies on Emily so much, she thinks, and in the steps she takes towards the spiraling ball she thinks she feels– anger?

JJ takes the ball easily and passes it to Matt, a smooth kick that lands almost squarely between his feet, and twenty feet away JJ can see the way his eyes widen in shock at such a perfect kick, but he takes it easily and dribbles it away, and JJ jogs after him. A flash of a navy and gold suit in the corner of her eye, and she picks up the pace. Matt passes it to her again and she is so close to the goal, and there are flashes of opposing maroon hurtling at her, and she thinks about the two cats Emily drew repeatedly on her homework and on her textbook, and she thinks about her red, plump lips, and her leg flashes out and slams into the white ball and into the net and now everyone is screaming.

She scored, JJ realizes belatedly, coming to a halt on the trampled grass, and she has a moment to take in the opposing goalie’s pained expression before Matt slams into her and throws her up with a whoop.

“You did it, Jareau!” he hollers, like he’s trying to make sure everyone in the state knows, but his grin is contagious and JJ finds herself laughing as she drops back into his arms and he gives her another twirl before the referee blows his whistle. He sets her down and they jog back to the team, laughing, but when the next whistle blows, JJ finds herself immediately drained and tired.

This next round does not come easily. It’s like their opponents are even more fired up and JJ’s team more relaxed, and no more balls are passed to JJ (she swears there are players designated to trap her). Two minutes to the end of the first half, JJ misses the ball and the other team scores.

“Damn it, Jareau,” she hears Ted mutter, and she shoots him a glare that has him immediately cowering.

Matt slugs him in the shoulder with a scowl before nodding to JJ, and she flashes him a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she sips from her water bottle and listens to the coach idly.

Still no Emily.

Which is fine. They won’t even go to the same school next year, so it’s whatever. It doesn’t matter. Her slender fingers don’t matter. Her wide grin doesn’t matter. Her glittering eyes don’t matter.

The whistle blows. JJ takes off, feet pounding in the grass, and briefly she wonders if her footsteps will ever be as soft as Emily’s.

Forty three minutes pass. They have one especially close miss, a ball that is inches away from the goal box until Matt throws himself in front of it, the ball bouncing off of him with a solid _SMACK_ and right into JJ’s feet, and she takes it and starts dribbling. There are footsteps behind her and she is exhausted and she shoots a hard pass to Anderson, who stumbles but keeps dribbling. JJ has to keep running though, she can’t let them surround her forever, but she is so tired and heavy and Emily still hasn’t come and it shouldn’t matter that much–

“GO JJ!”

The shout is heart-stopping, voice so comforting and familiar, and JJ spots the cat ears– oh God, it’s a new set of black cat ears– off to the side, just barely held back by a grinning Memere who looks only slightly overwhelmed, and JJ feels herself breaking into a wide smile because (she can’t believe she’s going to say this) she missed those cat ears.

“YOU’RE THE BEST! KICK THEIR ASSES!” Emily hollers, and Memere says something, mouth opening and closing.

JJ laughs. Emily is here. The stars are aligned. The ball is coming right at her, and she couldn’t care less. She kicks, and the ball soars upward in a perfect arc, and the goalie’s hands come together too late, and the net ripples as the ball catches in the goal, and the whistle blows.

And JJ can’t see or hear anything other than Emily jumping up and down from the sidelines, cheering and screaming, and JJ is sure she can feel tears from her eyes as she sprints with everything she has left, past the substitutes and the man in the navy and gold suit, and she slams into Emily with outstretched arms.

Maybe in another world, the grunt she hears in Emily’s chest as they roll onto the ground would make JJ worry, but right now JJ is too focused on holding Emily as close as humanly possible to her, burying her face in her tousled dark hair and inhaling that citrus scent, and it’s not just her, Emily is clutching her like she doesn’t ever want to let go and JJ swears she hears a faint sob from underneath her, but when she lifts her head and stares down, she’s met with an Emily grin that makes JJ want to kiss her silly, and–

“You came,” she whispers.

“Sorry I’m late,” Emily says. “Had to figure out how to avoid the Ambassador.”

And JJ laughs and Emily laughs and it’s like they’re in seventh grade and Shadowstar tripped over a bush and Breezesong is standing behind her, laughing like it’s just the two of them on the damp grass, and they only stop when Emily pushes her up.

“Your team’s here,” she says, and as JJ sits back on her knees, she notices their position, her straddling Emily, and she flushes as she hears someone run up behind her.

“Jareau, come on!” Matt says, and then, “Oh, she came!”

Emily raises her eyebrow as JJ rolls off of her, and Matt grins, not quite deterred by the cat ears or dark lipstick. 

“She was waiting for you,” he explains, and JJ punches him playfully.

“Shut it, Cruz,” she says, and he snickers before running back to the field, leaving JJ to pull Emily up from the grass.

With heat in her cheeks, she realizes how gross she is, covered in sweat and grass stains, but Emily’s eyes only twinkle.

“Aw, you waited for me?” she teases, and JJ rolls her eyes.

“Of course I did,” JJ says, and something flashes in Emily’s eyes that makes her drop her hand. “Em?”

“Meet me back here after the after-party,” she says, and JJ glances around to confirm “here” (next to the bleachers, almost off campus and bordering the woods), and JJ nods her okay and Emily squeezes her hand before shoving JJ back to the field, and JJ laughs, except this time it’s hollow as she turns her back on Emily and heads towards the lights and cheering crowd.

They end up in the woods like always, Emily perched on a gnarled tree root before hopping daintily to the tree over, and JJ follows along, padding alongside the muddy creek shore.

“I’m moving,” Emily announces, turning to face JJ, and JJ stumbles, only barely able to right herself before Emily’s hand flashes out and catches her wrist.

“What?” JJ asks dumbly.

“To Italy.”

Emily pulls JJ up but she pushes her away, ears ringing. “Italy?”

“Back to Europe,” Emily says simply, voice emotionless like when she’s talking to the Ambassador on the phone, and JJ wants to scream.

She swallows instead.

“Why?”

Her voice is so small, so pathetic, so unlike anything she’s ever sounded like when talking to Emily previously, and she hates how needy she sounds. Emily shrugs, face still blank. 

“We were supposed to move last year. But I persuaded her to let me stay. But then I–”

“You hurt Hastings,” JJ says.

“Because he hurt you,” Emily almost spits, eyes flashing with the same thing that JJ might never understand, and her hands clench into fists.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Maybe that’s what hurts the most. That Emily, her best and only friend, didn’t trust her with this big secret, and maybe it’s hurt that’s tangling up her insides right now. Emily softens, hands coming down.

“I didn’t want you to be sad,” Emily says, voice breaking on the last word, and she drops her gaze with JJ.

 _Well, it didn’t work_ , JJ wants to yell. _You didn’t tell me until now, and I’m still sad_. All the exhaustion from the night’s previous games and the nights she spent researching the academy slams into her, and JJ feels herself staggering from the weight of it. Emily reaches out again, and this time, JJ doesn’t recoil. She melts into the embrace, clutching Emily and Emily holding her.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she whispers, voice muffled into Emily’s hair, and she feels her hand combing through her ragged ponytail.

“You’ll be fine,” Emily murmurs. “You’re gonna be a soccer star at Quantico. You’re gonna be the best doctor.”

“But I want you,” JJ says stupidly. She wants her citrus shampoo scent, she wants the way Emily grins, she wants the way Emily brushes her hand over her arm for permission before going to interlace their fingers, she wants the way Emily puts on her lipstick to make herself look all pouty, she wants Emily’s fuzzy cat ears, she wants all of her.

“I know, Jayje,” Emily says. “I want–”

She stops herself mid-sentence.

 _Say it_ , JJ screams. _Say you want me as much as I want you_.

A tighter squeeze from Emily, and JJ wants nothing more than to sink even deeper into her, to keep a part of Emily with her always.

“We can text,” Emily says, and it sounds like a sob, but it can’t be because Emily Prentiss never cries, never flinches, and her voice breaks off. “Or email. Because you’re old-fashioned.”

“Okay,” JJ says, and she promises herself she’s not going to cry, but already the tears are streaming down her face and soaking into Emily’s shirt, and she sobs because she cannot ever lose her, she absolutely refuses.

  
  
  


_may 2014_.

 **jj@gmail.com** → That username is taken. Try another.

 **jenniferjareau** **@gmail.com** → That username is taken. Try another.

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** → Welcome to Gmail.

**shadowstar666@gmail.com** : Jennifer Jareau has sent you a friend request.

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** : Emily Prentiss accepted your friend request.

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(10:06 AM)** : Emily?

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(10:07 AM)** : yeah

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(10:07 AM)** : :)

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(10:07 AM)** : :)

  
  


may 2014.

They text through the Google Hangouts website, so it’s much faster. JJ’s new phone won’t arrive until June, and she’s pretty sure the international texting fees will end up more than what her scholarship offers, but Emily insists on Google Hangouts regardless. The time zone difference doesn’t seem to be a problem; Emily answers JJ’s texts almost immediately, and even though JJ has fallen asleep at the desk in the study before, the first thing she does when she wakes up is send a text.

It’s weird. She likes texting Emily, likes the way Emily will type in all lowercase and exactly zero punctuation in a way that is just like her, but what she would give to hear Emily’s voice again.

  
  
  


_june 2014._

“I think that chick’s checking you out.”

JJ chokes and spits out her water, glaring at Matt as he chortles. 

“Dude, you can’t just say stuff like that,” she says, wiping the water dribbling down her chin and feeling her cheeks flush.

He shrugs and takes another swig. “I mean, she’s cute, too.”

And Matt is right, she is cute, and JJ’s not gonna pretend she hasn’t spent the past week glancing at her. Respectfully. She notices the girl watching her with a raised eyebrow and swivels around, cheeks burning as she takes another drink from her water bottle.

Matt’s older brother is home for the summer before college, and eighteen-year-old Manuel Cruz is only slightly disgruntled by taking his brother and JJ to the Quantico fields for practice every morning before work. It was him who reached out to JJ and told her about the available fields for soccer downtown, and it was him who offered to give JJ a ride, what with her mother working eight to five, six days a week. JJ promised to make it up to him, but Matt, all good-natured and bright, brushed her off and said he was just glad he had a friend with him.

 _We’re both getting out of here_ , JJ thinks to herself, watching Matt wipe the sweat off before taking another swig from his bottle. They both received a scholarship for Quantico, and they’re both going to get out of this small town. They’re both going to play on the varsity soccer team, and they’re both going to make it out.

Manuel is due to pick them up any minute, and just as JJ snorts at another one of Matt’s childhood stories, Matt’s eyes flash over her shoulder and she feels a presence behind her.

“Are you guys playing at Quantico as well?”

JJ turns, and her breath catches.

_Chill thoughts, Jareau, chill thoughts._

“Yup,” Matt answers, and JJ doesn’t miss the nudge from Matt’s elbow. “Varsity soccer. I’m Matt, that’s Jennifer.”

“Elle,” the girl says, and she meets Matt’s outstretched hand with a firm handshake before turning back to JJ, a twinkle in her hazel eyes. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“Greenaway,” JJ says instead of a normal greeting, because this is _Elle Greenaway_ in front of her, _Elle Greenaway_ from Olympia and the star player on their soccer team, scored every single one of her team’s goals in the past two years she’s played with them and probably would have wiped JJ and Matt’s butts were it not for the fact she called in sick for the final game.

A beat, and JJ can feel the heat rise in her cheeks when she realizes–

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” JJ offers.

And Elle breaks into a smile, lips curling up and flashing her teeth, and JJ stiffens because that smirk is all too familiar.

“You’ve done your research,” she says, and JJ manages a nod. “Then that means you’re Jennifer Jareau, the soccer star that completely took out my team.”

“JJ is fine,” she forces out, and when she reaches out to shake Elle’s hand, nails smooth and fingertips calloused, JJ does her best to not swoon right then and there.

She can almost feel Matt’s smirk burning into her back as she stares at Elle and Elle gazes back at her. She has a scatter of freckles across her cheeks, getting smaller in size as they drift down her cheeks, and her eyes are some glorious hazel shade, flecks of gold speckled throughout, and her arms are toned and–

“So, not to ruin the moment or anything,” Matt says, and both JJ and Elle jump at his interruption, cheeks flushing bright red as Matt jerks his thumb at the beat-up Toyota that has pulled up at the parking lot. “But my brother’s been here a while, so uh…..”

“Sorry, Cruz,” JJ mutters, and Elle snickers.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” she says. “It was nice meeting you two.”

“Nice to meet you too,” JJ says, and she’s sure she can feel Elle’s gaze on her as she swings her bag up her shoulder and begins the trek across the field to the parking lot.

“‘Morning, kids,” Manuel says as they slip into the backseat. “How was practice?”

“JJ met a girl,” Matt says immediately, and JJ hits him. “Ow!”

“Don’t make me hit you again,” she warns.

“Good for you, JJ,” Manuel says, pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the easy neighborhood road. “Hope she’s nice.”

  
  
  


**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(1:27 PM)** : Hey guess what?

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(1:27 PM)** : what

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(1:29 PM)** : I saw THE Elle Greenaway at practice today!!

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(1:30 PM)** : who

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(1:32 PM)** : She played soccer at olympia and she’s one of their best players, she’s going to quantico too! I think we’re gonna be on the same team :)

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(1:39 PM)** : Emily?

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(1:40 PM)** : sorry the ambassador called

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(1:41 PM)** : thats cool :) is she nice

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(1:42 PM)** : I think so. She said hi to matt and me first

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(1:43 PM)** : thats cool 

**shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(1:43 PM)** : i gtg now, ttyl?

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(1:44 PM)** : Bye Em, ttyl :)

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(1:45 PM)** : :)

  
  
  


_july 2014._

“Okay wait, wait, I can’t–”

JJ laughs as her steps slow, and she trots back to the brunette, currently doubled over and panting, hands on her knees as she glances up with furrowed eyebrows, and JJ feels her heart skip a beat.

“Jesus Christ,” Elle says after panting for a few moments. “Your stamina is incredible. I can only manage sprints.”

JJ flushes at the comment, and she answers with a blushing smile. 

“Thanks. I manage long distance better than short though, so it’s kinda like we’re opposites.”

“That we are,” Elle notes, and the smirk she flashes at JJ is stunning. 

JJ smiles back stupidly. Matt is still off at the bleachers on his phone, arguing with Manuel about when to pick them up, and Elle glances in his direction with a snort.

“How’d you meet Matt?” she asks, and JJ startles.

“We were on the eighth grade soccer team together,” she says. “I was the only girl, and he was the only guy who was nice to me.”

“Low standards.”

JJ barks out a laugh.

“I promise he’s really nice.” 

Elle snorts, eyes rolling as she scoffs, and JJ giggles, enamoured by her quick wit, almost like–

She realizes Elle has been watching her for more than a few moments now, and JJ closes her mouth, blinking at the way Elle looks at her, and all of a sudden, JJ is all too aware of how close their flushed bodies are, and Elle is leaning in–

“Manuel, I swear to God!”

Matt’s holler cuts through the field and they both jump, Elle flashing an almost disgusted look at their friend as he throws his free hand into the air before tearing into his brother in rapid-fire Spanish. She shakes her head before offering her hand to JJ, outstretched and nails perfectly rounded.

"We should go get him,” Elle says drily, “before we get a noise complaint.”

JJ takes her hand. Elle squeezes hers firmly, her fingers long and calloused, and JJ tries to cool the rising flush in her cheeks.

  
  
  


_july 2014._

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(3:22 PM)** : Hey can I talk to you about something?

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(3:23 PM)** : sure

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(3:24 PM)** : Do you know if you’ll come back

[backspace]

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(3:25 PM)** : Do you like me?

[backspace]

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(3:27 PM)** : Do you remember Elle? The soccer player

[backspace]

**shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(3:28 PM)** : is everything okay

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(3:28 PM)** : Yeah don’t worry

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(3:29 PM)** : I miss you

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(3:29 PM)** : i miss you too

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(3:30 PM)** : lol is that all

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(3:31 PM)** : Yeah :)

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(3:31 PM)** : :)

  
  
  


_july 2014._

Maybe JJ should’ve noticed.

Matt certainly does. Maybe that’s why he shoots JJ a wink before leaving the two for another argument with Manuel, standing off to the far side of the bleachers and hissing in Spanish, quieter now that he knows Elle also understands the language. Elle definitely notices: she’s the one who gently wipes away a bead of sweat trailing down JJ’s forehead, the back of her hand smooth and feather-light, and when her hand drops, her eyes are focused a little below JJ’s eyes.

JJ has known Elle for two months, not nineteen. Elle is tanned bronze, not ivory pale. Elle is muscled and lean, not soft and curvy. Elle is–

Elle is not–

Her hand comes up to JJ’s cheek, and instinctively, she nestles into it, eyes fluttering as Elle’s thumb, calloused yet soft, gently brushes over her cheekbone.

“Can I kiss you?”

JJ craves her sunlit skin, her biting snark, her presence. Elle is here.

“Yes.”

This kiss is less awkward, less gentle. Elle must’ve done this before; she guides JJ’s lips to hers and JJ can taste a tinge of saltiness from her sweat, and her tongue flicks briefly over Elle’s as Elle’s tongue swipes over JJ’s teeth. She can taste her cherry chapstick, a little creamy and tangy, and her lips are thinner than–

JJ pulls away first, stepping back and out of Elle’s hand, her fingers flying up to her lips. Elle reaches out for her and hesitates, eyes searching, face questioning and maybe a little afraid.

“I’m sorry,” JJ says. 

Elle nods slowly. Elle never does anything slowly.

They don’t speak for the rest of practice.

  
  
  


_july 2014._

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(8:24 PM)** : I have to tell you something

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(8:25 PM)** : whats up

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(8:28 PM)** : you can tell me anything, dont worry :)

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(8:29 PM)** : I kissed Elle

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(8:33 PM):** Emily?

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(8:42 PM):** I think she liked me, and I didn’t know what to do

 **jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(8:45 PM):** It wasnt like that

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(8:58 PM):** Are you mad at me?

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(9:06 PM):** Its okay if youre mad at me, Id be mad at me too.

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(9:12 PM):** I’m sorry. I really am

  
  
  


**shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(2:33 AM)** : hey im rlly sry i fell asleep

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(2:35 AM)** : im not mad at all, you can kiss whoever you want :)

 **shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(2:36 AM)** : i hope elles a good kisser ;)

**shadowstar666@gmail.com** **(2:47 AM)** : im glad shes nice tho

  
  
  


_july 2014._

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Elle has never been one to leave things to rest, JJ muses. JJ’s on the bleachers, hands on her knees, looking down because she cannot stand seeing Elle with glaring eyes and her mouth set. She senses Elle hovering over her before the bleacher creaks, and JJ flinches. Her stomach is knotted. She hasn’t responded to Emily’s text.

“I won’t get mad if you didn’t like the kiss. I’d just at least like an explanation, because I don’t think it went the way either of us wanted it to go.”

Her voice is blunt and neutral, and JJ squeezes her eyes shut, praying for Matt to come back or scream or call his brother _estúpido_ , but heartbeats pass and he doesn’t show up. Elle continues.

“We don’t have to talk about it ever again. But for the fact that we’ll be playing on the same team for at least a year, I’d at least like to settle it right now.”

JJ’s throat has closed up, and she tries to swallow. It doesn’t work. A pause. Then–

“Is it Matt?”

It takes JJ a few seconds to process what comes out of Elle’s mouth, and when it clicks, JJ chokes.

“No! God– no–”

“Good, because that would’ve been awkward,” Elle says, and there’s a hint of a smile in her voice. 

JJ forces out a shaky laugh, and she brings her hands up to her face. Elle presses on.

“Is it someone else?”

Elle is a good person, JJ knows that much. She is bold and firm and unwavering, and JJ’s voice only shakes a little when she answers.

“She moved away.”

“Oh,” Elle says.

JJ lifts her face from her hands but doesn’t turn towards Elle.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought I wanted it. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Elle agrees, but her voice isn’t angry or bitter. A pause, and then Elle nudges JJ’s knee with hers. “Tell me about her.”

_She hated going home. So she rode the bus home with me and had her nanny come pick her up every evening. She loved this book series about cats in a forest, and she cut her nails into cat claws. She was the only one who ever talked back to the teachers. She tried to make flower crowns from the fields near our school, but her fingers shook and they always fell apart. We kissed in the forest just for fun because she didn’t understand why you would kiss someone on New Years because she only wanted to kiss me._

That’s not Emily. That’s maybe four percent of Emily, because how can JJ ever explain the way Emily looked at her like she held all the stars in the universe?

“She told me my eyes looked like the ocean,” she whispers, and she hates the way her voice breaks at the end.

A pause. She can hear Elle exhale slightly.

“She’s not here anymore,” she says, not bitter or annoyed, but matter-of-fact.

“I know.”

  
  
  


_july 2014._

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(4:03 PM):** She’s nice, but she’s not you.

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(9:32 PM):** How’s Italy? Have you met anyone? :)

  
  
  


_august 2014._

“Spanish I? Aren’t you a native speaker?”

“I’m here to get a good GPA and get all my credits, Greenaway, don’t patronize me.”

A grunt as Elle slugs Matt’s shoulder, and she leans over to JJ. 

“Jareau, are you in Spanish?”

They’re still friends, thankfully. Maybe the following days, Elle was a little frosty, but JJ doesn’t blame her. She’s only glad that somehow she’s been forgiven.

(JJ hasn’t forgiven herself. For kissing Elle or hurting her, she’s not sure.)

“I signed up for French,” JJ says absentmindedly, squinting at the tiny words on her paper. “I think we have Debate together, though.”

“Nerd,” Matt sings. “Wait, is Quantico an open campus? Like, are there different buildings for each class?”

“School starts in two days, Cruz, you’re telling me you didn’t realize that until now?”

Spanish would’ve been more understandable, more applicable. She only picked French because she thought Emily would be there to help her, and she isn’t–

She won’t–

“Jareau, you good?”

She jerks back to reality when Elle touches her thigh, and she blinks to see Elle and Matt watching her, concern written in their features. JJ forces a smile.

“Yeah, just nervous,” she says. “About going to a new school.”

Elle slips her hand over hers and squeezes, flashing her a warm smirk, lips curled up in an almost toothy smile. 

“We’ll make it,” Elle says. “It’s just school.”

  
  
  


_august 2014._

**jjlikescheetos@gmail.com** **(7:25 PM):** I’m taking french this year haha. But you’ve been speaking since you were three, right?

  
  
  


_august 2014._

Emily does not respond.

**Author's Note:**

> a very dear fic to me,, hopefully i finish it. second part should be up before the end of the year :"D
> 
> find me on tumblr @ssa-lesbian !!


End file.
